I smelled the bear before I saw it.
The scent hit me wrong—musty, animal, too strong. I stopped mid-step, arm shooting out to halt James behind me.
"What—"
"Quiet."
I scanned the slope ahead. Rock formations. Snow drifts. Nothing moving.
A shape rose from behind a boulder thirty yards up the slope.
Grizzly.
Big. Eight hundred pounds, easy. Thick shoulders, heavy head, fur dulled with dirt and frost.
Its head lifted. The nose worked the air.
Hungry. Focused. Fully awake. The most dangerous kind.
It saw us the same moment I saw it.
"Don't run." I kept my voice low and even. "James. No matter what happens, don't run."
"Wasn't planning on it." His voice was strained, but he held position. "What do we do?"
"Make ourselves big. Make noise. Back away slow. Don't turn around."
I raised my arms above my head and started shouting—loud, aggressive, wordless sounds designed to signal threat rather than prey. James did the same. We took measured steps backward, maintaining eye contact, giving ground without showing fear.
The bear didn't retreat.
It dropped to all fours and started toward us. Not charging—not yet. But closing distance with that deceptive rolling gait that covered ground faster than it looked.
I ran calculations. Bear spray was in my pack—too far to reach in time. Playing dead only worked for defensive attacks, and this bear's body language read predatory. Climbing was pointless; grizzlies could outclimb humans. Fighting back against eight hundred pounds of claws and teeth was suicide.
Our options were narrowing fast.
The bear broke into a run.
"Move!" I shoved James to the left and dove right, hoping to split its attention.
It didn't work. The bear tracked James with single-minded focus, veering toward him with terrifying speed. He scrambled backward, foot catching on a rock, and went down hard.
"James!"
The bear was on him in seconds, rearing up on hind legs, mouth open in a roar that shook the air. I was running before I could think, reaching for the knife at my belt, knowing it wouldn't be enough—
Then James made a sound I'd never heard from a human throat.
Not fear.
Something tearing loose.
There was a sharp crack—clean and final—and the space where James had been simply wasn’t human anymore.
One blink he was on his back in the snow. The next, a wolf stood in his place.
Big. Solid. Dark brown fur already dusted white, paws sunk deep into the snow as if he’d always belonged there.
